


An Opportunity Lost

by lola381pce



Series: Chemical Cocktail [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assets & Handlers, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Comfort, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Gentle Kissing, Kissing, Love, M/M, NASA Rovers (Spirit Opportunity Curiosity), Protective Phil Coulson, comfort kissing, nose kisses, sad kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: Prompts: Sad kiss / Comforting kiss / kiss on the nose / kiss on the foreheadFor anyone, everyone who needs some comforting hugs at the moment (or at any time).
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: Chemical Cocktail [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635874
Comments: 26
Kudos: 117





	An Opportunity Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Sad kiss / Comforting kiss / kiss on the nose / kiss on the forehead
> 
> For anyone, everyone who needs some comforting hugs at the moment (or at any time).

"Nope. That’s it. I'm out." Tony swallows the remainder of his single malt and pushes himself to his feet. "I'll be in the lab breaking the news to DUM-E and U. Maybe put together a few scenarios for the Space Cadets. See if we can mount a rescue mission. Later, roomies."

Nobody mentions his voice, rough with emotion, or the way his words spit out like machine-gun fire. He's disappointed. And heartbroken. They all understand. The NASA announcement regarding the loss of the Opportunity rover has sucked the atmosphere from the room leaving the team with an unexpected sadness at the news. But Tony speaks zeros and ones better than any other language, except mathematics perhaps. He feels what the NASA scientists are feeling. It's hit him hard.

Bruce shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stands with a wince as Tony bangs his tumbler down on the countertop. Running his fingers through his messy tangle of curls, he scratches the back of his head and asks, "Need some help?"

Tony doesn't pause in his escape towards the elevator.

"Sure, Gummy Bear. Whatever," he throws over his shoulder with a dismissive wave like he doesn't care. Like he's not desperate for the company. "Might be a long night. You up for that?”

“You say that like it’s news to me, Tony," Bruce tells him, hurrying to catch up sounding a combination of exasperated and amused. "That’s not news to me. That’s uh… like a regular Wednesday night in the Tower with you.”

Smiling at the gentle bickering of the two scientists, Natasha and Steve don't notice Clint disappearing from the snuggler chair he’s been curled up in, silently hoisting himself from the balcony handrail into rafters until he reaches the ceiling vents. It doesn't come as much of a surprise, however, when they turn back around to find his spot empty.

“I guess it was tougher on Clint than I'd have figured,” Steve murmurs, indicating with a nod at the dent in the plush seat cushion that’s slowly filling back out.

Natasha nods in return. “He gets attached to things,” she says simply.

It's a woeful understatement.

Like Tony, Clint had been enamoured by the dogged determination of the Mars Rovers during their ninety-day missions. Ninety days that turned into many years apiece. Separately in the beginning but as often as not together in the last few years, the pair had followed Spirit (until its loss in 2010), Opportunity, and Curiosity through valleys and over ridges as they traversed the hostile planet braving sandstorms and dust clouds charting the Martian landscape. He'd been as upset as Tony when he'd heard that NASA had lost contact with Opportunity. Now only Curiosity is left.

“Pity Agent Coulson’s not here. He might have been able to talk him down.”

“Good night, Agent Romanoff. Captain. See you in the morning,” a familiar voice says from the shadows. Natasha tries not to snort at the way Steve flinches in his seat. She's partially successful.

“Darn it! Was he there long?” Steve asks as the quiet footfall of the Avenger’s handler fades into the distance.

“Long enough,” she replies, picking up the remote. She snuggles back into the cushions, tucking her feet under her ass.

"You knew?"

Natasha slowly raises her eyebrow in an 'are you kidding' way.

Steve tilts his head to the side, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Of course you knew," he acknowledges, suitably chagrined by her response.

In a benevolent mood, she smiles. “Let’s find something else to watch, shall we?”

“Sure. That whole thing was pretty sad. Be nice to watch something to take my mind off it. Hey, how about I make some popcorn?”

“Yeah, go for it," she tells him. To his disappearing back she adds innocently, "Have you ever seen _Silent Running_?”

***

Coulson knows by the time he gets to his suite, it won't be empty. He may not see Clint until he wants to be seen but he'll be there. Eyes up high.

"Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he says, gently closing the door behind him, loosening his tie, unfastening his collar. The LED on the security panel blinks at him a couple of times then remains a solid glow indicating it's locked and the system's armed.

"Good evening, Agent Coulson. I trust that you're well, sir," the A.I. returns. "Lights and music on?"

Coulson smiles that little half-smile of his. "I'm fine, thanks. No music, lights on please, but... keep them low in the living area."

"Of course, sir. If there's nothing else, your security program's been activated and I'll enter privacy mode unless there's an emergency or you should require anything further. Have a pleasant evening, Agent Coulson."

"Appreciate it, J.A.R.V.I.S. Thank you."

Keeping to his normal routine Coulson goes to his bedroom first, methodically removing his clothes, putting them on hangers or in the wash hamper. He quickly dresses again, slipping into an old pair of worn jeans and an equally ancient t-shirt, shapeless and soft to the touch. He leaves his feet bare and pads through to the kitchen at the far end of the open plan living area; a smaller, more comfortable version of Stark's penthouse.

Coulson ignores the prickly sensation of being watched as he crosses the room. He doesn't look for its source. Instinctively he knows it's Clint in the ventilation shaft. Even if his situational awareness hadn’t kicked in, the feel of Clint's familiar gaze burning into the back of his neck is enough to give away the archer and his location.

He considers making pancakes but rejects the thought as quickly as it enters his head. Maybe later. Instead, he removes two unopened bottles of water from the surprisingly modest fridge-freezer Stark had installed and ambles over to the seating area. He sets one of the bottles down on the coffee table at the far end of the couch, a sinfully comfortable monstrosity, more in keeping with Stark's opulent taste in furnishings. The other he cracks open and takes a long swallow from as he drops into the cushions at the opposite end.

He leans forward and picks up the remote to flick through the shows recorded on his system. Bypassing _Dog Cops_ (Clint will want to watch that with him but perhaps not tonight) and a rerun of _Supernanny_ (he's on his own with that one) Coulson settles for a house-flipping show that he can leave on in the background while he waits for Clint to appear.

He doesn't need to wait for long. Maybe ten minutes into the renovation he feels rather than hears Clint dropping down from the air vent. Still, he doesn't acknowledge Clint's presence, giving him the freedom to come to him in his own time.

Sensing him closing in, Coulson doesn’t look directly at him but out of his peripheral vision, he’s aware of Clint perching on the edge of the cushion body rigid, muscles tight. His face, Coulson knows from years of experience, will be set in a murderous scowl to mask his true feelings.

The seal of the second bottle snaps as it's opened with a sharp twist of Clint’s wrist. It's the first sound Clint's made since Coulson entered his apartment.

"Hi," Coulson says finally, his voice soft.

He raises his own bottle for another swallow of water but before it reaches his lips, the movement is blocked by a lap full of dispirited archer. Clint's nose presses into the curve of Phil's neck, his arms wrap around Phil's shoulders in a tight hug. Awkwardly, Phil reaches round to set the bottle down on the lamp table to the side of the couch before curling his own arms loosely around Clint's torso.

Clint inhales deeply, pulling Phil's scent into his lungs. Phil doesn't so much as flinch as the slow exhale tickles the skin of his neck. It's a sensitive area and takes a lot of that legendary Coulson control but he understands Clint's centering himself with his familiar smell. If he flinches Clint will pull away like a spooked animal. He slides one hand up and down the curve of Clint's spine in a soothing gesture and turns his head slightly to press a soft kiss with the side of his mouth against Clint's skin.

"Hi," he repeats even more gently than before.

Clint mumbles a response into Phil's neck. It wrenches Phil's heart to hear the dejection in his voice. He cups the back of Clint's head, holding him close, and rubs the base of Clint's back with the thumb of his other hand. Little by little, Clint relaxes, melting into the warmth of Phil's embrace.

"'M sorry," he whispers a few minutes later. His face is still tucked into Phil's neck but turned so he can breathe without tickling him. Phil's brushing his fingers through Clint’s short hair, his nails occasionally scraping the skin and any residual tension in his body is gradually draining away.

Phil waits for him to elaborate but when he doesn't, he asks, "For what?"

Clint shrugs and mumbles, "For bein' a sap. Over nuts n bolts n metal."

A memory of Clint tearing up when he found out Curiosity had hummed ‘Happy Birthday’ to itself on its first anniversary on the red planet, springs to Phil's mind. From that point on Clint had made it his own mission to follow the various rovers’ progress as often as he was able because he "didn't want the little guys to be alone up there."

Phil’s mouth curls up in a brief smile at the recollection and a wave of affection for Clint rolls over him.

“Hey, look at me. Clint, look at me, please?” he repeats when instead of raising his head, Clint tries to bury it further into Phil’s neck. When he does eventually pull away from his hiding place, Phil cradles Clint’s face in his hands, carefully as though he might break, and gently places a kiss on his lips.

“You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, Clint Barton,” he says, punctuating his words with another kiss. “The capacity you have in you to love never ceases to amaze me. And... if you want to be a sap over nuts n bolts n metal, be that sap. I love you. Don’t ever change.”

Every sentence Phil utters is followed by a comforting kiss somewhere on Clint’s face - his lips, the end of his nose, his forehead - each one full of love, and tenderness, and perhaps a little sadness.

Clint pulls back to scrutinise Phil's expression. It’s open and honest, rather than the closed, impassive mask Phil’s wears as his norm. The smile playing on his lips is kind and full of warmth, deep enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. Usually, Clint sees better from a distance but here, on Phil’s lap, he sees only love and that’s better than anything he's ever observed from being eyes up high.

Heart thumping, Clint slowly leans forward to press his lips against Phil’s, conveying his utter devotion to the man who has always been there for him; supported him, trusted him, called him on his bullshit when it’s been needed. If there's one person on this earth who truly understands him, it's Phil Coulson, the guy who thinks it's okay for him to get bent out of shape over a NASA rover 140 million miles away.

Phil's kissing him back, slow and easy with a hint of so much more, but before it turns heated and deepens into something more intense - not that it wouldn't be nice, it's just not what he needs right now - Clint breaks away to rest his forehead against Phil’s.

“Love you too, darlin’,” he whispers, a warm glow settling in his chest. "Love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, a huge thank you all for your encouragement for my series of stories based on kissing prompts. I hope you enjoy the third installment and I'm always delighted to hear from you.
> 
> Lola


End file.
